


Family, Home

by michelel72



Series: Near Point [4]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Christmas Party, F/M, Family Fluff, Family Issues, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:07:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23069701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/michelel72/pseuds/michelel72
Summary: December 2004: Jonathan joins the Fourniers for Second Christmas.  They find they've got a lot to talk about.
Series: Near Point [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1571716
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. The party's on

**Author's Note:**

> More backstory. I really expected this one to be shorter, but ... that's clearly not how I roll.
> 
> Chapter titles are from Paul McCartney's "Wonderful Christmastime". NO REGRETS.
> 
> Content notes: Perinatal depression; toxic families of origin; familial homophobia; detached parenting; overprotective parenting; implied parental drug/alcohol use; references to child predation; reference to the Catholic Church abuse scandal/Spotlight investigation. I may have missed other topics, so use caution if you have triggers or concerns. Additional details always available on request; be safe.

(December 28, 2004)

Jonathan looks down at Emma in dismay. "Was I supposed to dress up?" he asks as he takes off his coat. Here he had worried that the button-down he's wearing under his sweater might be too much.

Too impatient to wait for him to finish untangling his coat from the bags he's holding, Emma hugs his legs.

"Not at all," Dan answers, and yeah, his own sweater isn't particularly dressy. "Emma heard 'second Christmas' and wanted to show off her dress again."

"Well, I can see why," Jonathan says, aiming his words mostly to Emma. "It is a very fancy dress."

"Yes!" She pulls back so she can turn in a circle a few times, a rudimentary twirl to show the dress off fully. Then she returns to hug his legs again.

Jonathan needs to free up his hands. He sorts through the bags quickly and holds one out to Dan. "Mark sends his love. And his cooking."

Dan smiles at that, accepting the bag. "Same difference, seems like." He hesitates and then adds, "He's welcome, too, you know."

"I know. Christmas really isn't his thing."

Dan seems to take that as a mild rebuke about Mark being Jewish, which Jonathan didn't intend. Yeah, that is a minor factor, but it's more about Mark's feelings about this particular holiday, and this just doesn't seem like the right moment to go into detail about that. Mark tries not to get too grumpy about it around Jonathan, but Jonathan figures it's just easier to keep his observances away from their apartment.

"He appreciates the invitation, though," Jonathan adds quickly. "We both do. Thank you." Katie issued the invitation as an of-course before she remembered, and Dan's hesitation now was just awkwardness, not second thoughts.

Jonathan knew Katie would choose well, but he'd been prepared to put up with a hell of a lot from anyone she married, just to stay in her life. But he _hasn't had to_. He doesn't ever want either of them to regret including him and Mark, even for a moment. Sincerity always amplifies awkwardness, though, so it's time for a distraction.

He shifts his remaining bags to one hand so he can kneel down and pick up Emma with the other arm. It's a little tricky, but still possible for now. She promptly snuggles against him as he stands again. He kisses her cheek, and she giggles a little, finding his beard tickly.

Dan is watching them with something odd in his expression.

"Is everything okay?" The last complicated conversation they had before today was about Katie being pregnant again, _already_ , and it went some unexpected and uncomfortable places. Dan might still feel a little weird about that whole thing … except this doesn't look quite right for that. "Is _Katie_ okay?"

"Yeah." Dan shakes himself a little. "Yeah, she's in the family room with Sarah." By his expression, things maybe aren't going _great_ , but they're at least manageable.

Jonathan heads that way. He leaves the rest of his bags vaguely near the tree in the formal room; they can sort out the contents of the bags later. Dan heads the other way, presumably to put the food away.

When Jonathan gets to the family room, Katie turns out to be nursing Sarah, so he carefully looks over at the TV instead as he says hello. A moment later, he registers something flying through the air at him. He automatically shields Emma's head with his free hand and turns to make sure the object hits him in the back rather than coming anywhere near her. The movement is instinctual; the object is just a soft block, and it bounces lightly off the back of his shoulder. He knows Katie would never throw anything dangerous at him even if he wasn't holding Emma.

"Rude," he says. He would tell her she's setting a terrible example for Emma, but he's not sure yet she's in the right place to hear it as just teasing.

"Oh, sure, I'm the rude one," she mutters, and he relaxes because she sounds a little rough but mostly okay. "Look me in the eye and say that again, buddy."

"Sure. Just as soon as you're done with that." Tonya used to get equally annoyed at him for pointedly looking away, but he _does not_ want to catch a glimpse of body parts they usually consider private, and he doesn't want to give anyone else the impression he's trying to. He knows it bugs both of them, but he has limits.

Another soft block bounces off his back. Emma peers over his shoulder, frowning. "Rude, Mommy."

He's certainly not trying to start anything between the two of them. Katie worries enough about whether Emma will continue to accept her as her "real" mother as it is. He shifts his arm so he can get Emma to look at him. "Maybe Mommy's just tired. All of you just got back from a trip, and traveling can be tiring, especially for grown-ups."

Emma, most likely fresh off her midday nap, does not appear particularly invested in this news. She's starting to squirm just a little.

"Do you want to go sit with your Mommy?" Jonathan asks her.

Emma actually looks back over at Katie in consideration before nodding her firm approval. "I hug Mommy."

"Okay." He sets her down. "But let Mommy finish up with Sarah first, and make sure Mommy really does want a hug, okay?" Kids should be able to get hugs whenever they want, and he will never deny her, but Katie is sometimes too physically sore or emotionally fragile to handle Emma's exuberance. And it's not a bad idea to model consent anyway. He's not entirely sure he buys the whole theory, but considering what he sees in his job … it probably at least can't hurt to expose kids to the idea of ask-first early.

He leans against the doorframe to wait. Even without looking directly, he can see enough to know that Emma climbs up beside Katie and asks permission before carefully touching Sarah. With her occupied, Jonathan then asks Katie how their trip went and how everyone's doing.

Katie has plenty of updates for him, and once she finishes up with Sarah he can face her properly. She hands him Sarah so he can burp her and then lay her down on the play-mat, and Katie hugs Emma as he does all that. Katie seems well enough for now — a little tired, mostly — but every now and then she hesitates. Like there's something she can't quite say. Jonathan probably ought to be helping Sarah practice sitting up, but he's starting to feel too jittery.

Dan wanders in before too long, bearing nibbles. He sets out a sampling of their usual chips-and-veggies-and-dip as well as a few snacks from Mark's care package as Katie continues her report. "How much does Mark think we eat?" Dan asks with a smile, when there's an opening.

But he and Katie share a look for a moment before silently agreeing on something, and Jonathan is getting the definite impression he's screwed something up.

"Well, you know, when in doubt, make extra," he says, trying not to sound as uneasy as he feels. "So does Laura like supervising?"

Laura _mostly_ likes supervising, apparently. As Katie's telling him about that, Emma slips free and goes over to Dan. She tugs at his pants and stage-whispers, "Presents, Daddy."

He kneels down. "Miss Emma. What is Christmas about?"

"Family and faith and love and being together," Emma recites dutifully. "And presents."

Dan smiles at that, because he's no more made of stone than Jonathan is. "We're being together right now. But you may go select _one_ present to open, okay?"

"Okay!" Emma hurries over into the formal room to contemplate her selection. Jonathan shifts a little so he can keep an eye on her through the doorway. He doubts she'll bring the tree down on her head or anything, but there's no harm in making sure.

"Are you mad I didn't go, too?" Jonathan asks when there's an opening in the conversation and he's sure Emma's attention is safely diverted. He doesn't really want to talk about whatever's wrong, but that's better than worrying about it all day.

"No," Katie says. She glances at Dan. "Told you he'd know something's up."

It's not like they've exactly been subtle.

Dan looks annoyed, but not at Jonathan, strangely. "They know you're a first responder. So why do so many of them seem to think you can just get a bunch of days off over such a big holiday for a trip like that?"

So there must have been mutterings. "I used to make it work," Jonathan tells him. "Not at Christmas, of course — I can't make someone with kids work that so I can have it off. But I'd get a few days around Thanksgiving instead. But my partner has a kid now. I can't ask her to cover for me at Thanksgiving just so she can be with him on Christmas. He's getting old enough to notice her missing on big days."

Everything he's saying is technically true. It's not why he didn't really try this year.

"Well, nobody's mad," Katie says. "It's just that something weird happened and we wanted to ask you if you knew anything. You haven't been telling Emma that Jamie's a bad person, have you?"

" _What_? No!" What the hell. "Why would I? Why would I talk about Jamie with her at all?" The last time — the only time — he was with Emma around Jamie was at Katie and Dan's wedding, over a year ago now. He kept well clear of Jamie as much as he possibly could, pasted on his vacant work smile when proximity was unavoidable, and slipped out of the reception once the newlyweds had left.

Carving time out of his work schedule to get to that event and then look after Emma over their honeymoon was why he "couldn't" attend Thanksgiving or Christmas with the family last year, either. He'll probably keep blaming Tonya, going forward; she wouldn't mind if she knew, and there's no real reason she needs to know anyway.

"I didn't figure you would," Katie says. "We're just trying to figure out who might have."

"What, she won't tell you?"

"She was upset. She came running in, yelling for help, said Jamie was a bad person, and started crying."

"Technically, she said, 'Uncle Jamie is a bad people'," Dan says. "In case that matters."

Jonathan still doesn't know what that would be about, but something about the way they're describing it makes him feel like he should. "Jamie didn't know?"

"He said they were just talking," Katie says.

"And when Emma calmed down?"

"We tried a couple of times," Dan says, "but she just kept repeating that he's bad."

There are ways to work around that. Dammit. The child is three and a half. The kind of memory needed to make sense of things like this and avoid blending them with fantasy is hit-or-miss at that age. Mostly miss. The delay since it happened _won't help_.

Which means now's better than waiting. "Emma-lemma, Emma-pet, have you picked your present yet?"

"Eenie-mo … yes!" Emma latches onto a gift that is almost half her size and lugs it over to Jonathan, since he's nearest.

He checks the tag. He doesn't know whether most or all of the presents under the tree are for her, since the family did actually already have their real Christmas, but this one is. "Okay, looks like this one's to you from Mommy. Do you want to open it yourself, or do you want help?"

She decides to do it herself, and she does it by grabbing handfuls of paper and ripping them away, which is probably Chris's influence. A large, plushy teddy bear is inside, explaining the odd shape. Emma embraces it with delight. "I love it Mommy thank you!"

Jonathan sits on the floor, legs crossed, and pulls Sarah into the resulting angle so she can get some practice sitting up with his ankles and shins as support. She's a little wobbly but seems to have a handle on keeping her head up on her own, so he starts gathering any scraps of wrapping paper that happen to be in reach. "Emma, will you talk with me for a little before your next present?"

"Okay," Emma agrees. She holds her new bear out to him. "Soft, see?"

Jonathan pets it briefly. "Yes, very soft." It's going to be a pain to keep clean, but that's for the adults in her life to worry about. "It's very nice of you and Sarah and your Mommy and Daddy to have a second Christmas party so I can be with you." Emma does a little dance with her bear, celebrating a whole second Christmas, so he gives her a few seconds for that before asking, "Do you remember going to Grandmom and Granddad's house for your first Christmas party a few days ago?"

Emma considers and then nods.

"Well, I wasn't there, so will you tell me about it?" he asks.

"Sure!" She promptly provides an avalanche of impressions — the tree was _so sparkly_ and they drove forever and _ever_ and Nina's dress was pretty and so on. Many kids her age would unconsciously spin off into made-up details just to keep talking, too young to understand the difference between fiction and nonfiction, but she's sounding pretty accurate.

Whatever happened with Jamie has apparently not defined the event for her. That's very good, even if it does make this a little harder.

"Jon …" Dan is watching with clear confusion.

"Dan." Jonathan is very careful about his tone — not angry, not annoyed, not impatient, but utterly firm. Nothing to alarm or even distract Emma, yet still clearly conveying _let me do my job_. Yes, Katie and Dan can give him a clear narrative, but that's not the point. The point is to ask Emma what happened.

Maybe Dan doesn't realize that's what he's doing. Maybe Dan thinks Jonathan is pointedly dodging their question? Dan probably literally asked Emma, "What happened?" That's almost adorable, in a naive and not-especially-helpful way.

Katie backs Jonathan up by putting a hand on Dan's arm and shaking her head. She may not really get what he's doing yet, either, but she knows him well enough to trust him.

It helps significantly that Jonathan is already familiar with the particular ways Emma's mind works, but the preschool ages are so tricky. He has to be careful about leading questions, but he has to do _some_ leading, because he has to help her brain find the right memories, if she even has them. Fortunately, he has more latitude than he usually would for that, because he's not building a case that has to stand in court right now.

He had _better fucking not_ be building a case.

He really doesn't think Jamie would have done anything, but he knows better than to make assumptions. So he's not going to be work-careful here, but he's going to be more careful than he normally would be just talking to her.

He waits for a lull and inserts himself. "Did you see Granddad there?" Of course she did, and she doesn't seem to have a lot to say, but she remembers big hugs and tinkering. "Do you remember Grandmom there?" gets similar but more extensive details, which makes sense. Mom tends to bustle around at gatherings.

"So you know how Sarah's your sister and you're her sister, right?" he checks next.

Emma nods, briefly squatting down to make entertaining faces at Sarah. Then she stands up again and reports, "I'm a big sister." 

"That's right. Well, just like you're Sarah's sister, I'm your Mommy's brother, remember? And your Mommy is my sister, just like Sarah is your sister."

"Okay." Emma sounds a little more uncertain about that, which is fair. Sharing attributes with grown-ups can be a pretty big concept for her age.

"Well, we have another sister, our big sister, your Aunt Mary Ellen. She helps people plan parties. Do you remember seeing her, and Uncle Tom, and your cousins Missy and Billy?" Christmas with the family usually involves a couple dozen people, and asking about each of them individually would take all day, so he's paring back the list to direct family and grouping them together. Both Katie and Dan look relieved about that, in the corner of his vision.

Emma remembers a couple of things, but she's getting antsy.

Jonathan waits until she's clearly winding down. "Wow, there is so much to talk about!" he marvels finally. "Do you think it's time to take a break and open another present before we keep talking?"

Emma perks _right_ up at that. "Yes! Please."

"Okay. This time, instead of you picking one, I'm going to give you something to open. But will you get it for me, since I'm being a Sarah-chair?" At her eager agreement, he describes the bag to bring back and assures her it's okay to drag it. It's not all that heavy, but it's far too awkward for her to try to carry.

"If I'd known you'd want so much detail, I'd have taken the camcorder," Dan says when Emma hurries to the formal room. "Drink?"

"Oh, yeah, please. Coffee or soda or water, whatever's easy."

Dan nods and heads to the kitchen.

"You are going somewhere with this, right?" Katie asks quietly.

Jonathan just rolls his eyes at her. "Duh," he says, even more quietly. He's not supposed to say things like that around the girls, but Emma won't hear him, and Sarah's too young to pay much attention to one time.

Katie sticks her tongue out at him, which is just as forbidden, so at least she's willing to sink to his level.


	2. Sing their song

Emma soon drags the bag into the family room, with dramatic grunting noises out of proportion to the task. Once she has it within Jonathan's reach, she flops down on the floor. "Ugh! So heavy! I'm zosted!"

Jonathan tests the bag's weight, but no, he didn't misremember. She's just a ham. He reaches over and pokes her lightly, not quite a tickle. "Too exhausted for a present?"

Emma pops back up. "No! All better now! Totally freshed!"

"Well, that's a relief." Jonathan digs into the bag and pulls out two items, both easily identified by their size and shape.

" _Two_ presents?" Emma asks.

Dan, carrying a collection of glasses and cups into the family room, frowns just a little. He was alarmed last year, when Jonathan finally felt like he could give Emma as many presents as he wanted to, but he calmed down once Emma actually started opening them and he could see that the presents themselves weren't extravagant. Emma's at the age where the excitement over the number of presents is bigger than any concern about their individual value.

"Yeah," Jonathan tells Emma. "You can use them together."

Emma starts to try to rip the paper away, but one of the presents is too flat for that to work well, and the other is too small. She seems bothered by this.

"Emma, did Uncle Chris tell you kids _have_ to open presents all messy? Or maybe that they're supposed to?"

Emma nods, still trying to grip the paper. Dan, just finishing setting down cups and glasses, looks surprised that Jonathan figured that out.

"Emma, stop for a minute, please?" When she looks up at him, Jonathan tells her, "Uncle Chris was being silly. _He_ likes to open presents that way, so he thinks everyone should." Chris always teased Jonathan for liking to keep the paper intact, back when they were kids, and Jonathan teased him right back for being a human paper shredder. "And he knows that most of the time, kids are told they can't be messy, so he wants them to know that they _can_ be messy with presents. But you can open presents any way you want to. You can open them messily, or you can open them carefully, or you can take turns, or you can be messy when that's easier and careful when _that's_ easier, or you can decide based on how the paper feels when it tears, or anything. You can open _your_ presents any way _you_ want, okay?"

Emma studies him, and he could swear she's checking to see what he wants. He does have his own preferences for himself, but he's not going to push them on her, and he's confident he can avoid giving anything away.

But he's helped her open presents before, and she might remember that, because she eventually holds out the larger, flatter present to him. "Help open it careful?"

"Sure." He shows her how to find edges and which ones are best to start with. Together they reveal a coloring book. Emma pages through it, exclaiming over the images, and Jonathan folds the paper while she does that. Not quite in good enough condition for exact reuse, but enough of it is intact that it can probably be trimmed down to wrap something smaller.

Emma eventually remembers there's a second present and holds that out to Jonathan. "How do you want to open this one?" he asks.

She considers. "Messy," she says finally, but she's watching him closely. This is a test, to see if he really meant what he said.

"Sure," he says again, careful to use the same delivery. He shows her how to find a good starting point on something so small and rigid, but he has to shift over into being Chris a little when it comes to the actual extravagant-tearing part because that doesn't come naturally to him.

That only takes a few seconds, because it's not like there's a ton of paper-ripping needed to unwrap a box of age-appropriate crayons. "Colors!" Emma exclaims. She looks at the coloring book. "Oh, together! Thank you, Uncle Jon!" She gives him a big hug.

"You're very welcome," he tells her. "You can color your book while we talk some more, if you want."

Emma gives the matter Serious Thought. In the end she shakes her head. "No, that's okay. Later." She places the crayons on top of the book and picks up the little stack but then looks confused. "Where do they belong?"

"Well, they're new, so we'll have to decide that. But it can wait." He's not _that_ fussy about cleaning up. "We can just set them here for now."

He sets them on the floor near where he's sitting, out of the way so they're not likely to be stepped on but easily spotted in case she changes her mind.

"Now, you were telling me about your trip. So the next oldest after your Aunt Mary Ellen is our big brother, your Uncle Chris. He helps people who ride trains. It sounds like you definitely remember seeing him, along with Aunt Laura, and your cousins Nina and Nan—"

"Cousin Nina!" She begins dancing around the room with sheer excitement, and Dan has to dodge quickly to make sure he doesn't trip over her and spill the carafes of water and juice he's carrying.

Giving Emma a few moments to expend some energy, Jonathan realizes he's smelling freshly brewing coffee. "You didn't have to _make_ coffee," he protests to Dan. "Instant would've been fine, or just soda —"

"It's fine, Jon," Dan says. "Really. Any you don't want can just go in the fridge and I'll drink it tomorrow." He smiles a little. "Though I'm kind of curious whether you'll manage to polish off the entire pot."

Jonathan probably will if he doesn't pay enough attention, but that sounds awfully rude. And the comment is harmless and feels like teasing, but he didn't mean for Dan to go out of his way. He manages a quick, awkward smile and turns back to Emma. "So you liked seeing Cousin Nina?"

"Yes, yes!" Nina is apparently so _tall_ and so _pretty_ and her _hair_ and her _dress_ —

"Nina is the cool cousin right now, I think," Katie tells Jonathan. "She's learned poise over the past year."

Jonathan wouldn't necessarily have guessed that from the picture in Chris's card this year, but he can see it. He waits Emma out, scoring and expressing thanks for a Dan-delivered cup of fresh coffee as Emma waxes eloquent about Nina. Once she's definitely started repeating herself, he tries to steer her more towards talking about Chris. She doesn't have much to say about him except acting out how Chris thinks presents should be opened, once she secures permission to open another present.

"I don't think it was _quite_ so evocative of a piranha attack," Dan murmurs.

"Says you," Jonathan murmurs back, because he's seen the paper-blizzard aftermath Chris leaves behind. "Okay, Emma. Next oldest after Uncle Chris is me. Do you remember seeing me there?"

Dan looks confused and then a little outraged. Yes, this is in fact a test. Jonathan doesn't signal any kind of apology for it, because this matters, too.

Emma considers at length and then, hesitant, shakes her head.

"Oh, right, I wasn't there," Jonathan says. "Good job remembering." It's not a guarantee at all, and he does still have to be careful about how much he leads her, but it suggests she can resist being misled at least a little. "So next oldest after me is your Mommy. Do you remember seeing Mommy and Daddy and Sarah and you there?"

Emma nods. Factual ground seems to reassure her. "Mommy and Sarah napped lots," she reports.

"Well, it's very tiring, being such a little baby and having to grow bigger every day, and taking care of such a little baby," Jonathan points out.

Emma nods her agreement. " _And_ carry another baby _all the time_ , inside," she notes.

So they've told her, then. "Yes, that would be tiring, too," Jonathan says. "What did —"

"Grandmom says we're very very very happy for another baby," Emma adds.

Jonathan doesn't like to ignore anything she says, but if he spends any time at all with the thought that Mom apparently thinks the cure for her daughter's depression is to try to argue or shame her out of it — or maybe to try to lie to Emma about its existence, who knows what the fuck that comment was meant to be in aid of, with apparently enough emphasis to drive Emma to bring it up now — he'll get furious and that is _not helpful_. "Okay, and what did your Daddy do there?"

Dan is taking Katie's hand, so he's on that, at least.

"Daddy helped Mommy and worked onna laptop and played with me lots."

That sounds awfully generic, since that's pretty much what she always says about Dan, but there's no law saying Dan had to do anything different and she doesn't sound rehearsed or coached. "That sounds really nice," Jonathan says.

Emma nods firmly again and goes over to the couch, where she grabs onto one leg of each parent so she can hug them both at once.

When she comes back, Jonathan says, "Well, the next oldest after your Mommy is our little brother, your Uncle Jamie. He works for a magazine, making it look pretty. Do you remember seeing him and Aunt Maggie and your cousins Brian and Joey and Carrie?"

"Uh huh." She seems neither upset nor very interested. Apparently Jamie's family lacks Cousin Nina Magic.

Jonathan doesn't want to break his pattern too much and he doesn't want to put too much emphasis on Jamie specifically, but she's getting bored again and she doesn't seem inclined to get to the problem on her own. "Uncle Jamie likes to make pictures," Jonathan says. "Did he make any pictures for you?" That's technically leading, but then again, so would be asking whether the sun rose today.

"Yeah. Eden. Snake anna tree anna … snake anna … lion ..." Her patience for remembering is reaching its limit.

Jamie is absolutely a "not Adam and _Steve_ " type, so the content makes sense, but it's a bit annoying he's still stuck on that. Still, there are worse passages he could be shoving at her to convey his condemnation.

"He made _beautiful_ art books for all the kids," Katie adds. Jonathan gives her a look, because he really wasn't planning for her to interrupt. "I'll show you later."

"Cool. Emma, did Uncle Jamie only talk about Eden?" The question is very badly done on his part, because she didn't mention him talking at all, but getting her to the right point is tricky and the longer this goes, the harder it'll get.

She starts dancing the Toddler Twist with her new bear. "Yeah. No. We talked about games."

"Which games?" Halfway through the question, he gets it, and he has to fight to keep the realization from changing his delivery. Only … it doesn't make sense, because Katie and Dan should have gotten it, too, if it's what he thinks, and they should have fixed things there.

"Um, Play-Pretend, and Princess Dragonrider, and Kitchen Cleanup, and Same Starting Sounds, and Where Does This Belong?, and _Elefantes_ , and Team Helpful to the Rescue!, and —"

"And all the other games you and I play together?" Jonathan supplies, partly because he gets it, partly because they have a _lot_ of games so this could take a very long time.

Emma agrees.

"And then what did Uncle Jamie say?" Jonathan asks. He's already guessed, but he needs to be sure.

"He said … he said ..." Emma gasps. "Uncle Jon! Uncle Jamie is a bad people!"

"Okay," he says, projecting calm. "You're here with Mommy and Daddy and me and you're safe. But I need you to help me out a little, okay? Part of my job is catching bad people, and there are different kinds. I don't know what kind of bad people you mean. Can you tell me what he did or said?"

Emma looks around a little wildly and then goes over to Dan, raising her arms to ask for him to pick her up. He does and she snuggles against his shoulder, sticking her fingers in her mouth, looking back at Jonathan with wide eyes.

Jonathan sighs. "Do you want me to guess?" That's a perfect way to get a case thrown out, but he's confident that's not a concern now.

Emma nods.

"Your Uncle Jamie asked you what games you and I play together when your Mommy and Daddy aren't around?" Emma nods again. "And then, did he say maybe your Mommy and Daddy didn't need to know he asked that and ask if you could keep it a secret?" Knowing Jamie, it was probably something more like _be a big girl and keep this a secret_ , but there's no need to include that here.

Jonathan will just have to teach her how to recognize that kind of manipulative bullshit later.

Emma nods once more. "Bad _people_ ," she mutters, her condemnation hampered slightly by the fingers still in her mouth.

Katie's quiet anger isn't a surprise. Dan's is, a little. But something isn't adding up, because they shouldn't be that angry, and they should have figured this out a lot sooner.

"Emma, did you know that adults can be very, _very_ silly sometimes?" Jonathan asks.

"You don't —"

"Katie." Firm voice again. Then, "For example, your Uncle Chris was silly and forgot that different people like different ways of opening presents." He pulls his keys from his pocket and shows them briefly. "I'm very silly about keys. I have to keep them in this pocket —" he puts them away again to demonstrate "— because if I ever put them in a different pocket, I forget which one, so I have to check them all, and sometimes I have lots and lots of pockets."

Emma smiles a little at that, still around her fingers.

"And when I get home I have to take them out of my pocket right away, or else I'll forget and they might end up in the washing machine. And then I have to put them down on the table right away, or I'll put them somewhere very silly and forget. One time I was so hungry I went straight to the kitchen, and I had to put my keys down so I could pick up my snack, and that's how my keys ended up in the fridge all night."

The morning after that was not fun, trying to figure out where the hell his keys were and nearly ending up late to work. It makes a good story for Emma now, though, and she giggles. "Ih-ee."

"Yes, very silly. And sometimes adults are so silly they forget Rules. That's part of why you're supposed to go to your Mommy and Daddy, so they can help you figure out if it really was a bad person or just someone who forgot. You did _exactly_ the right thing, going to Mommy and Daddy right away. You did _exactly_ the right thing now, telling us what Uncle Jamie said. You should always do that, and they believe you, and I believe you. But I was silly again and forgot to tell you that sometimes adults are silly and forget things. If Uncle Jamie just asked you to keep secret that he talked to you about our games, and if you didn't feel scared talking to him about that ... I think maybe your Uncle Jamie was just so silly he forgot about that Rule."

Emma looks skeptical, which is fair, because this is the first time he's ever said such a thing. He hates having to, because he doesn't want her to think she'll just be dismissed when she does precisely what she should.

"What rule?" Dan asks. Katie looks just as mystified, alongside her lingering anger at Jamie.

 _Sometimes adults are so silly that they're unforgivably reckless with you_ , Jonathan doesn't tell Emma.

"The Secrets Rule, Daddy," Emma says, finally removing her fingers from her mouth so she can sound properly judgmental. Her tone conveys much of what Jonathan doesn't dare say.

"The Secret Rule?" _That_ has Dan sounding much-more-suitably wary.

"Secrets," Jonathan corrects, emphasizing the final letter. Emma helps by _sssss_ ing up at Dan. "Emma, sometimes adults _pretend_ to be so silly that they forgot a Rule, because they want you to tell them the Rule, because that helps you remember. Your Mommy and Daddy are _pretending_ to be so very, very, _very_ silly right now so that you can tell them. Okay?"

If there's any upside here, it's that their "pretend" "forgetting" of the rule models the idea in a context where Emma feels safer, so it might be easier for her to accept that Jamie just "forgot", too.

Emma thinks about what he's said. Finally she nods. Filling with all the resolve a preschooler can muster, she straightens so she can look Dan in the face. "If somebody says to keep a secret from Mommy and Daddy, that means they're bad, 'cause only bad people say to keep secrets from mommies and daddies."

Why the hell does Dan look like he wants to well-actually that? "So what do you do if that happens?" Jonathan prompts.

"I say okay, 'cause it's not a lie to say okay when I'm scared." Dan looks a little taken aback. "And then when they stop looking I run run run run run and I find Mommy or Daddy or Uncle Jon or a teacher or a pleece and I tell them."

"What do you tell them?" he asks, because apparently this didn't stick as well.

"That … that there's bad people."

"Yes, you tell them about the maybe-bad people, and you tell them what the people wanted you to keep secret, okay? And your Mommy and Daddy — or I, or your teacher, or the police officer — will make sure you're safe and figure out if the people are bad or just silly."

"... Okay." Emma will need help to process the adjustments to the Rule, but that's fine. That's what each one of the adults in this room is for.

But two of those adults clearly have far too many questions. "And your Mommy and Daddy will talk to Uncle Jamie and remind him about the Rule and tell him he's not _ever_ allowed to forget it with you again. And if he does tell you to keep a secret again after that, you'll know he's being _naughty_ and you should tell your Mommy and Daddy that, okay?"

Emma nods her agreement with this plan.

Jonathan drains his cup. "Emma! Oh, no! I ran out of coffee! Do you know what that means?"

Emma gasps dramatically, clearly relieved to be back on more playful ground. "No! What!"

Jonathan takes a second to shake his head slightly at Dan. No, he is not angling for Dan to go get him more. "It means we've been talking and being together so long I drank it all up!"

"So, about five seconds?" Katie suggests with a smirk.

Jonathan can't stick out his tongue at her or call her a brat with Emma right there. "Maybe even _ten_ ," he says instead. "It's been sooooo long that maybe … just maybe …"

After a few more seconds, Emma catches on. "Presents? Daddy, is it time for a present?"

Dan thinks for a few seconds. "Maybe it should be time for all the rest of the presents." That … wasn't what Jonathan was going for. "Katie?"

Katie agrees. Emma whoops with delight, which starts Sarah making loud sounds of her own in chorus. Dan sets Emma down, and she promptly tugs at his and Katie's pant legs. "Come on, Mommy! Come on, Daddy! Presents!" She moves over to Jonathan and pulls at his arm as if she thinks she can lift him all the way to his feet herself. "Come on, Uncle Jon!"

"Just a second, Emma," Jonathan tells her, remaining seated. "I know you're excited, and I don't want to make you wait too long. Your Daddy did say you can do presents now. I'm sorry to mess that up, but your Mommy and Daddy and I need to have a quick talk about a Grown-Up Rule. _So_ ," he says, as her face falls, "would you be willing to get one present to open right now, and then we can have our talk while you get the rest of the presents ready, and then we'll join you and open them all?"

Maybe he should wait until after the girls are asleep, but he doesn't think he's capable of that, and he doesn't want to be nursing a bad mood for the rest of the day and have Emma pick up on it.

Emma is still disappointed, but the lure of a right-now present sways her. "O _kaaaayyyy_ ," she sighs. She goes to the formal room and soon returns, but she's holding two presents. "Sarah too?"

The second present really is for Sarah. Jonathan can't imagine she's learned to read in the short time since he last saw her, but she's figured some pattern out. Maybe she's learned what her name looks like on gift labels, and maybe she figures the ones that aren't for her are for Sarah? Whatever it is, she's clearly brilliant.

"Sure thing, honey," Katie says. "You are such a good big sister. Want to help me open it for her?"

Emma does, deciding that Sarah's present should be opened messily because babies are messy, while Jonathan scoots around so Sarah can watch a little better. Sarah's present is a cozy-looking blanket in bold primary colors. Sarah grabs a handful of it, promptly shoves a wad into her mouth, and fusses a little when it turns out not to be tasty after all. Jonathan eases it back out and moves her onto his knee so he can bounce her a little. She's getting heavy enough that he can't do much of that at this angle.

Emma takes her own present over to Dan. "Careful or messy, Daddy?"

She's triangulating. Definitely brilliant.

"I like in-between," Dan says. "When I'm opening presents. Do you want me to show you with your present?" When she agrees, he does so, holding up the paper after. "See? Neither meticulously preserved to museum standards, nor attacked by rabid badgers. In-between."

Jonathan is feeling a little judged here, but at least his style isn't the one being described as rabid badgers. And it really is just teasing. He waits for Emma to process the earth-shattering revelation of a middle present-opening path and then to appreciate her new picture book. "Okay, Emma, would you please go get alllllll the presents ready to be opened?"

"Hafta put my book where it belongs," Emma says. Jonathan hides his wince. He wishes she'd ease up on that a little — he honestly doesn't harp on it that much, because he's just as much in favor of kids getting to be messy as her parents are, and if she keeps it up he's going to get talked to.

Emma carefully sets the book on top of the small stack Jonathan established, but she frowns at the result. Then she squats down in front of the pile, moves the heavier and flatter book to the floor, and then moves the coloring book and crayons on top of it.

"That is _very_ good stacking, Emma," Jonathan tells her. Potential talking-to be damned, he can't not praise her for spotting and mitigating a toppling risk. "Now, you have a job, I think. Actually …"

He lifts Sarah from his leg, stands, and takes her and the play-mat to the formal room.

"Sarah can supervise. And, hmm, it's pretty quiet, so maybe you should teach her some Christmas songs, okay?"

Emma cheers that idea and starts belting out a mash-up about reindeer and snowmen and drummers, handily filling her ears so she's far less likely to overhear anything she shouldn't.


	3. The word is out

Jonathan goes back to the family room and asks, "Okay, what the hell?" — but Katie's matching question collides with his mid-air and they cancel each other out.

"You taught her that rule, I take it?" Dan asks in the resulting opening.

"Of course."

"Why is this the first we're hearing of it?"

Jonathan blinks. "Yes, exactly. That's _my_ point."

"It's not like you ever told us, Jon," Katie says, cross.

"Well, no, because I assumed you were both talking to your daughter." They're all keeping their voices down so Emma won't hear, but Jonathan kind of wants to start yelling at them.

Dan looks offended. "We talk to her."

Jonathan rolls his eyes. "I don't mean, 'Hi, honey, how was your day, that's nice, ready for dinner?'" Oh, he really shouldn't have copied Dan's delivery so closely. It sounds like mockery, and he doesn't mean that. Not quite. "I mean making sure you know what your daughter is learning and _doing_ with adults who _aren't you_."

"What, like … checking up on you?" Dan sounds uneasy. "By questioning a preschooler?"

Why is this so hard for them to comprehend? " _Yes_."

"We would _never_ ," Katie says, hurt. "We trust you —"

"Jamie was right," Jonathan snaps.

Well, that certainly shuts them up.

"If cornering me into saying that is meant to be some weird kind of Christmas or birthday present, I hope you got a receipt, because no offense, but it _really_ doesn't fit me. Jamie can't believe I could ever have a wholesome reason to be within a mile of a child, and he can go ... soak his head for that, and he was _absolutely_ wrong to try to make Emma keep a secret from you, but asking her what she does when she's with me? Asking what our games are? That was the right thing to do. That's what you're supposed to be doing. That's what I assumed you _were_ doing."

"Why would we?" Katie asks. "We already know she's safe with you."

"Because I'm an older male relative between puberty and death. I'm a risk factor. So is Jamie, for that matter. And Chris, and Dad, and Tom, and some of her cousins, just in that one branch of her family." Jonathan looks more directly at Dan. "And you. Yes, since this appears to be an incomprehensible revelation to you, I talk to Emma about what you and she do together when Katie's not there. Flying colors, by the way, your report card is almost Mary Ellen quality, but that doesn't mean I never ask again. I'll keep talking to her about it, because I have to, because my job is to keep her safe." And so is theirs, dammit.

They consider, and for a moment Jonathan thinks he's gotten through to them. But then Dan says, "It's not just men, you know. Do you ask about Katie?"

Katie starts to look hurt again, by Dan this time, but then looks like she understands what he means, and the hurt fades. Mostly.

Jonathan closes his eyes briefly because, yeah, he left his flank open there. "Not as much as I should," he admits. "Yeah, I know better, but … I know Katie, and I trust her." He looks at Katie. "I trust you, and I need you, so I tell myself that's enough, and I let myself rely on the statistics that point to men being the far greater threat. But I shouldn't. I'll … I'll be better about that."

"... Not really … where I was going with that …" Dan mumbles.

"But why?" Katie demands. "If you really do trust me, _why_?"

"Because my opinion isn't proof! Because it's _arrogance_ to think I can be sure, and my pride isn't worth her safety! Dammit, Katie, you _know_ how wrong I can be about who I trust!"

That startles her, though it shouldn't. He has no idea why she puts any stock at _all_ into his judgment when her daughter's safety is the price.

Emma trails off. Jonathan automatically positioned himself so he can easily keep an eye on her again, but he's not facing her at the moment, which is good because he doesn't trust his expression not to alarm her. He puts every ounce of energy he has into draining the strain and conflict from his voice and calls, "That was a _great_ song, Emma! Encore, encore!"

Emma starts up again, which surprises Dan. "She knows _encore_? Oh, that's what we thought was _one more_." He shakes his head, dismissing the distraction. "Jon, look, I know you're just trying to protect her, but that doesn't mean she has to be suspicious of everyone in her life."

"Of course not. You don't — I'm not saying to stick her in an interrogation room or anything like that. I'm just saying _talk_. You didn't even know I've been asking her about you — if I was teaching her distrust like you're worried about, you _would've_ known, right? I'm careful about that, of course I am. This isn't about locking her up in some tower like Rapunzel or anything like that. It's just about making sure she feels like telling you things is no big deal. It's about normalizing talking to you — to us — about other adults, so she _doesn't_ have to approach it as suspicion. It's about making it such an expected thing that you notice if there's someone she won't talk about."

"Okay," Dan says. "Okay, that's fair. But … _anyone_ who wants her to keep a secret is 'bad'? Really?"

"What _possible_ good reason could someone have to make her keep secrets _from you_? And we've already talked about how _surprises_ are different," he adds when Dan clearly tries to come up with something. "She _should_ be suspicious of someone demanding secrecy, at least enough to come check with us, or an authority figure like a teacher if none of us are handy."

"Okay, stop, back up," Katie says. "I'm not letting you slide past this." She pushes herself up to standing before either of the men can offer assistance, stalks over to Jonathan, and pokes him in the chest. "Yes, I _do_ trust your judgment of people, you jerk. I don't trust anyone with the kids if I can see that _you_ don't trust them. We've never had a problem with anyone you do trust. The _only_ person you've ever failed to protect is _yourself_."

That is not even _close_ to true, and — oh, crap. "Emma, Emma, help, the Mommy-monster is gonna get me!"

Katie narrows her eyes at him. "Seriously?"

"She is _watching us_ ," Jonathan points out under his breath. His making sure he could keep an eye on Emma means she can see him in return.

Making it a game worked, though, and the worry leaves Emma's face as she comes running to save him. "No, Mommy-monster, no getting Uncle Jon!" she commands, pushing ineffectually at Katie's leg.

"Okay," Dan says randomly, standing as well and picking up Jonathan's abandoned cup. "Jon, let's go refill your coffee. Katie, do you mind getting the girls started on presents?"

"Yes presents presents yes!" Emma votes.

Katie looks just as surprised at the proposed division of labor as Jonathan feels, but she shrugs. "Well, if I'm not allowed to get an Uncle Jon, I guess I'll just have to get an Emma instead," she announces, holding her hands up like claws.

Emma's eyes go huge. "Nooooo!" she exclaims in delight before fleeing back to the formal room, giggling all the way, Katie in unhurried pursuit.

Dan heads the other way, to the kitchen, and Jonathan follows him. Once they're there, he refills Jonathan's cup and hands it over. Then he gets out another cup and pours some for himself. He leans back against the sink and looks down into his cup, clearly working up to something, so Jonathan leans against the counter himself and waits.

The shrieks and giggles from the formal room die down, shifting to a more conversational babble.

Dan finally makes up his mind. "How old were you when you came out to Katie?"

Jonathan doesn't drop his cup, but that's more credit to simple paralysis than anything active on his part. He stares at Dan.

Dan waits several seconds before realizing he's not going to get an answer. "I trusted that you had a reason for the way you asked Emma about Jamie," he points out. "Trust me now that I'm not just being nosy, okay?"

Fair's fair. Dammit. Jonathan looks down into his own cup. Yep, definitely fascinating. "Sixteen," he mutters finally.

"So how old would Katie have been?"

She's three years younger until May, and two the rest of the year, so, "Thirteen."

Jonathan risks a glance up to see that Dan nods at this but then just waits.

After several long seconds pass, Jonathan finally makes himself look up properly. "Why?"

Dan looks a little surprised. "Sorry, you usually know where I'm going before I even do. I'm just saying …" He takes a deep breath, looking nervous. "When Katie was thirteen, you, an older male relative, asked her to keep a secret from her parents?"

Jonathan startles enough at that to nearly spill his coffee. That's — that's not the same at _all_ — that's not …

But Dan's right. Jonathan has been very clear to Emma. By his own definition, she should consider him a bad person.

He feels sick.

"I'm not judging," Dan assures him. "I've met them. I think I see why you wouldn't have wanted them to know. It's just … you asked how anyone could ever have a good reason. I'm not great at coming up with examples like that in the heat of the moment. If we do our jobs right, our kids will _never_ feel like they can't talk to us, but we're human. We make mistakes. We don't know everything. If any of them ever do feel that way, I don't want them thinking they're the ones who are wrong for it. And even if it's not them … the odds are very high that they'll have at least one friend whose parents aren't safe. Or a _cousin_. I'd much rather have Emma and the younger kids ready to help them than condemn them."

Of course parents aren't always safe. And of course the risk isn't always just emotional, as it was for Jonathan. He sees evidence of that every day. He knows it personally, from Andy, whose parents kicked him out and left him to fend for himself for the entirety of high school. He knows it from the things Mark doesn't say about his father, from Mark's discomfort around anyone using any kind of recreational drug.

"I know better," Jonathan says, numb. "How … _I know better_."

"Blinders," Dan says. "It's a big problem in my job, getting so locked into one approach or workflow that we forget to account for others. I'm not going to pretend I know the inner workings of your job, but I'm guessing the same is true for you."

"Yes, but … I'm supposed to know better. I have to _be_ better than that."

"That's why we have systems, though," Dan says. "I have peer reviewers and QA. You've got checks and balances, too, right? Such as having a partner. _We're_ a system, too. We have to work together. It can't be each of us working alone and then checking up on each other through the kids."

That sounds ominous. And Dan still gets a little nervous around Jonathan occasionally, but he's handling this himself.

Panic grabs hold of Jonathan.

"I'll fix it," he blurts. He has no idea _how_ , but — Dan could — he might — "I'll figure something out, I'm sorry, I'll do it in front of you, just — just don't —"

"Hey, whoa," Dan says. "It'll be okay. _We'll_ fix it — together, I mean, _with_ you, I'm not — damn it, Jon, do you have any idea how important you are here?"

He's … _not_ forbidding Jonathan from spending time with Emma?

"We can't … no, I don't want to say we can't do this without you, because that sounds like it's an obligation. Your help has been _such_ a gift, and I don't ever want you to think we don't recognize that. Just aside from the logistics, Emma adores you. Sarah doesn't scream blue murder when you hold her. Katie has a family member she can turn to who doesn't make her furious. Okay?"

Jonathan manages to nod. He's not sure why Dan isn't kicking him out, but he's not going to argue. Even if maybe he should.

"I don't just mean Jamie, by the way," Dan says wryly. "We haven't had a chance to bring this up yet, but we're kind of hoping to put your mother off until after the delivery this next time. We were vague about the due date, but if anyone asks you …"

Jonathan isn't convinced that Dan won't still work his way up to banning him, but his pulse is starting to calm down. "If Mom asks me, the due date is November 31st, got it." She won't, but there's no need to get into that.

Dan needs a moment — Jonathan's oddness always throws him a little — but then he smiles as he gets it. "Yeah, maybe not quite so blatant, but something like that. I know she means well, but she always manages to do it in a way that gets right on Katie's nerves."

Jonathan knows. Mom's extended visit around Sarah's birth was rough on both him and Katie, as they took turns covering for each other. He is entirely in favor of Plan Vague Due Date, and maybe he should feel guilty for it, but he doesn't much. Not anymore.

"But anyway. It's not just Katie and the girls who appreciate you. I know we don't always … click, exactly, but I really do appreciate everything you do, too. And I don't just mean all the cleaning and laundry you take care of."

He's smiling again, this time at the scrap of wrapping paper Jonathan's hands are turning into confetti. Jonathan doesn't remember setting the coffee down at all. He makes himself shove the paper bits back in his pocket.

"Though those are massive just on their own. But you're _here_. Knowing there's someone besides me making sure everyone's safe and helping Katie manage the depression — that helps me, and I really am grateful. And …" He sighs. "I like that Emma has _one_ relative whose influence I don't have to worry about."

"Wait, what?" That makes no sense. She has plenty of relatives through Katie.

"I've mentioned Annabeth's mother is toxic," Dan says. That's true, and Jonathan knows not to let her take Emma if she ever turns up, not that he would let anyone do that anyway without Dan or Katie right there approving it. "So toxic we had to change our number. We had to warn everyone we knew not to give out our address when we bought the house. Someday I'm going to have to explain to Emma — _we're_ going to have to — that she has a grandmother who isn't allowed to be in the same room with her, and I have no idea how or when we're going to tackle that. I don't have any living relatives, or at least not any I'd recognize. And … I'm going to try to get us out of going down to your parents' house."

"It is a long drive," Jonathan agrees slowly, not sure where Dan is going with this. It's an awkward distance, not quite far enough to bother flying. Especially with small children.

" _Very_ , and the prospect of making it with _three_ children under five already makes me want to tear my hair out. I figure that should get us out of this next year, at least. But …" He sags against the edge of the sink, looking tired. "I don't know. Most of them seem nice, most of the time. And I don't want to cut Katie off from her family, of course."

Holy _crap_ is Jonathan off his game. He should have been worrying about that himself a hell of a lot sooner.

"But … look. After the honeymoon, two of my friends asked if you were okay. Separately, unprompted. Not because of anything you did," he adds hastily. "You were perfectly well behaved, which is rather like saying water's wet. Because of Jamie. They saw how you kept trying to disengage, and they saw how he _kept_ going after you, and they really didn't like what they were hearing. Especially when you were in charge of Emma."

Jonathan remembers that Emma had a very persistent fan at the reception, a woman who — come to think of it — kept turning up to coo over her whenever Jamie cornered him and started sniping. He had actually worried just a little about whether Emma had a stalker. It never quite occurred to him that she might be intervening for his sake. Well, Emma's sake, really, because she shouldn't have had to hear that stuff or the vicious tone Jamie used for it.

"Katie thought you wouldn't want me to bring it up —"

"Yep."

"— so I didn't back then," Dan says. "But I don't like that he talks to you that way at all. I don't like that he thought his sister's wedding was a place for that kind of hate. I don't like that he felt comfortable exposing Emma to it. I don't like that he spent our Christmas visit being snide to Katie about it, and I really don't like that no one shut him down."

Dammit, dammit, what did he do? "I appreciate your concern, but I don't need a white knight, okay?" How much is Jonathan going to have to smooth over?

"I wasn't," Dan says, sounding sour. "Katie said you wouldn't appreciate me interfering, so I tried to stay out of it. But _I_ didn't want to hear that crap, and I didn't like Katie having to deal with it. I certainly don't want the kids exposed to it. I never meant for Emma to spend any time alone with Jamie at all, but Katie was having a rough time, and Sarah — I couldn't watch Emma every second. And there'll be a third kid soon, and just … I can't see how it can work."

Why does everything, _everything_ , come back to this? "They're family," Jonathan says weakly. That matters. Katie and the kids still have a chance at a good relationship. They can't throw that away over him.

Dan sighs again. "I know. And I'm not saying they're all irredeemable or anything. Chris kept trying to change the subject and make jokes. Maggie was great with Katie, as long as you didn't come up. I never heard your father say anything, but Jamie did at least shut up when he was around, so maybe he did."

"You're half right," Jonathan says. And crap, he didn't mean to say anything, but he's still rattled, and now he has to explain that. "Jamie's not allowed to say anything about me _to Katie_ anymore. If Dad caught him saying something to you without Katie around, he'd just figure it wasn't his business."

Dan stares at him.

Jonathan picks up his coffee cup again. "It's complicated," he says, and he takes a drink to give himself a moment to make sure he has his expression under control.

"Okay, yeah, that's bullshit," Dan says, and Jonathan almost chokes on the coffee. " _Not his business_? I'll talk to Katie, we'll figure something out, but I don't want the kids exposed to all that garbage. Definitely not while they're this young. I mean, it'd be one thing if we had full coverage, but we'd need you there for that."

Jonathan tenses. "If … if you _need_ me there …"

Dan considers him. "No," he says finally. "I know your job makes that complicated. And … no offense, but if it's that bad when you're _not_ there …"

"It'd be a lot worse if I was," Jonathan admits. "But I could play decoy, draw him away from all of you. You'd still have to keep an eye on Mom, but Katie's pretty good at shutting her down about it if Jamie's not there to egg her on. Mary Ellen would follow Mom's example, and Chris would be delighted to help you get people talking about anything else. Dad just wants everyone to get along. If Katie really wants to go, if she and the kids really need me there, I'd make things work with my job."

Tonya would absolutely go back to covering for him if he asked. Probably even over a Christmas shift, if it came to that, if he was open with her about just how important it was. He can't stand the thought of doing that to her and Lije, but Katie and her kids have to come first.

Dan looks amazed. "You would just volunteer for that." He shakes his head. "This is what I'm talking about. Most of them didn't care what the kids heard, even though they know you're their uncle. And even though at least some of them know how much Emma adores you. I've never heard you say _anything_ negative about any of them in front of the kids, not _once_. Not even the ones who richly deserve it. You're even offering to be a human shield for them now. This is why we've never bothered to quiz Emma about you, you know. We don't need to. You prove we can trust you _all the time_."

Jonathan scowls. "I'm not backing down from this, Dan. The reason trusted adults are such a common hazard to kids is _because_ they're trusted. They know exactly how to make other adults think they would _never_. If I did want to hurt them, you'd never know it _from me_."

"You wouldn't," Dan says. Not even slightly questioning. Just confident.

"Not even with a gun to my head," Jonathan agrees, "but you can't prove that. The cost is far too high if you're wrong, and you're not the one who would have to pay it."

Dan rolls his eyes. "Fine. We'll ask Emma about you occasionally. Not because I think we need to — I still don't. Just because I don't trust you not to set up some kind of word-of-the-day thing to test us."

Damn. Jonathan hadn't even gotten that far yet. That would've been a good idea.

"But you're going to have to show us _how_. I really don't want her to feel like she's constantly being interrogated."

Jonathan waves a hand in the direction of the family room. "Just what I was doing in there. Make it a conversation, not questioning. She likes telling stories, so just help her do that about people she knows. Get to know what it sounds like when she's being factual and when she starts sliding into make-believe. Get her used to the idea that her parents like hearing about all her older friends — it's not just about me. Babysitters and daycare and teachers, too. And priests," he adds, his tone dropping to ice without his conscious intent. "Though if I ever catch you leaving any of the kids alone with a priest —"

"We don't," Dan says quickly, which is good, because Jonathan doesn't even know how he would finish that threat. Even the little he said was enough to summon a flash of Dan's occasional nervousness, which isn't great but is at least familiar. "Everyone seems fine here, and they're good about parental supervision, but we're not ready to trust them that far yet."

Then the hint of nervousness evaporates as Dan gets _that_ look. Fucking hell. He was right that Jonathan can usually figure out where he's going, but Jonathan waits for it, on the tiny chance he's wrong.

But of course he's not. "Jon … I don't mean to pry, but … you're _so_ worried about dangers to the kids … especially priests … and Katie said you didn't protect —"

"Oh, stop tiptoeing," Jonathan tells him, irritated. "No, I was never molested or anything like that." It's not the first time he's been asked, and sadly, it probably won't be the last.

He knows the question is usually well-intentioned, and professionally he can see why it might come up, but it just makes him feel like he can't even manage to do being-screwed-up right.

"Katie and I were talking about the reason the rest of the family knows about me at all, which is thanks to someone I made the mistake of trusting when I was in my twenties and _absolutely_ old enough to know better. I'm so worried about protecting the kids because it's my job to protect them, and my job shows me what happens when their protection fails. And I'm suspicious of priests especially because the church was supposed to be on our side in that. We heard about individual cases, but it never even occurred to me that the church was _condoning_ it. Hell, _facilitating_. I don't trust the church — not now, maybe never again — and I won't ever tell the kids they should, either."

"I kind of thought as much," Dan says. "Especially when you made it clear that _pleece_ was 'police officer' and not 'priest' a little while ago."

"Yeah. I'm not saying my profession's pure, either — it's absolutely not — but at least we've got _some_ safeguards." Such as Tonya having to stand around twiddling her thumbs whenever Jonathan interviews anyone underage. Sure, it's a little annoying, but setting an example and providing that reassurance is worth it. "And I honestly don't want to make the kids think they can't trust _any_ —"

"Daddy Uncle Jon come _onnnn_!" Emma calls.

Katie joins in with, "Did you two get _lost_?" She sounds annoyed. "Do I need to send out a search party?"

No. That's not annoyed. "Shit. She's feeling abandoned. _Go_." Jonathan downs the rest of his coffee, hastily dumps more into his cup, and then follows Dan to the formal room.


	4. The spirit's up

When Jonathan reaches the formal room, Dan is just sitting down beside Katie. Dan tests the waters by gently taking her hand — she doesn't like for them to make assumptions and just start grabbing her into hugs — and she pulls her hand away but then changes her mind and rests her head on his shoulder.

Emma is bouncing around in delight at the reunion of the household, so Jonathan picks up Sarah, not wanting her to feel left out. "Katie, Emma, Sarah," he says. When he has the attention of two of those, he continues, "I owe you all an apology. We took too long. It was for something important, but I should have waited to start it until later. I'm sorry I made you all wait."

Katie manages a thin smile, provisionally forgiving him. "Sokay, c'mon, presents!" Emma proclaims. Sarah dissents by choosing that moment to fill her diaper.

Jonathan sighs. "That's fair," he tells her. "Your feedback has been received and recorded." He knows it isn't _actually_ a reply; it's probably from the change in position or something. It's just hard not to take that kind of timing personally, after so many years of desperately listening for even the faintest whisper of divine guidance. He spent a long time _trying_ to find personal meaning in random occurrences. It's been a much longer time since he technically gave up on that, but it's a hard habit to break. "Emma, go ahead. I just need to grab Sarah's bag, but I'll be right back, I promise."

"I can —" Dan starts to say, but Jonathan waves him down. Katie needs him, and Jonathan isn't the kind of part-time uncle who enjoys the fun stuff but then flees at the first sign of ick. Sarah's bag is just over in the family room, so Jonathan is soon back and spreading out supplies.

"I should insist," Dan notes. He sounds tired, and he doesn't actually make a move to get up from his half-cuddle with Katie. "We all already did the Christmas thing with each other. Today is for having it _with you_. It's not very hostly of me to let you exile yourself to the diaper mines."

"Hey," Jonathan protests. "Being weird is _my_ thing."

Dan gives him a little shrug-and-smile, looking faintly pleased with himself. "I have my moments." Then he closes his eyes and groans softly. "Oh, that _drive_."

The drive really isn't _that_ bad, and Jonathan says that as someone who hates driving. And they got back around lunchtime yesterday, so they've at least had a little recovery time. Maybe Dan is reacting more to the trip as a whole, though, and in fairness, Jonathan never had to make the drive with two small children in the back to worry about. And Katie answers him with her own groan of discontent, which is even more fair because the drive would have been harder on her.

Jonathan doesn't ask if she's okay. That's rarely easy for her to answer. "Do you want to go out for a walk later?" he asks instead. She's an athlete, and he knows she hasn't enjoyed how much her pregnancies have affected her. "Work out some — no, Sarah, used diapers are not for tasting. Yes, I'm very mean, and I'm sorry for that, but you really wouldn't like it. Try this nice, tasty rattle instead. Yes, that _is_ much better."

"Yuck, Sarah," Emma says, wrinkling her nose.

"See, Sarah, Emma agrees with me. It would be yucky." He knows that's not actually what she meant, but he doesn't want to encourage her to criticize Sarah for exploring the world with the few tools she has at this stage. Gently redirecting her usually works.

Emma hesitates but then rolls with the shift in perspective. "Yeah, yucky." She takes a deep, showy sniff and then makes a disgusted noise. " _Stinky_!"

"I assure you, my darling, your poop is just as stinky," Dan informs her. "Let she whose poop does not stink —"

"— Be the first to recognize that most people's does," Jonathan says hastily, because if Dan is embracing his inner weird today, there's a non-zero chance he was planning to end that with something like _cast the first poop_. "Or as they say in Rome, _Ix-nay on-way e-thay reschooler-pay ractical-pay oke-jay odder-fay_."

"How do you do that so _fast_?" Katie asks, blinking rapidly as she works on processing the actual message.

"They say that in Rome, do they?" Dan asks. "Prescient folks, those Romans. And oddly specific."

Frustrating, to have such rich Same Starting Sounds words as _preschooler_ and _practical_ and _prescient_ and nowhere topical to go with them. "Just cautious," Jonathan says instead. He's not certain Emma would find the prospect hilarious, but it's definitely not a risk he wants to take. And dammit, _prospect_ is another good word he can't do anything with. "In related news, if you ever have trouble finding your … vehicular operation enablers, you might want to check the … comestibles temperature stabilization unit early in your search."

Emma makes a fierce little face at him, as if she's silently vowing to develop the most extensive vocabulary known to humankind just to stop him from talking over her head like that.

"And I apologize in advance for possibly inspiring such silly reindeer games," Jonathan adds. "Emma, what games do you think reindeer play?"

Emma is more than happy to speculate, with her guesses involving a lot of demonstrative jumping. That frees Jonathan up to finish changing Sarah, dispose of the full diaper, wash his hands, and bring some of the snacks from the family room to the formal. Mark is twitchy about Christmas but made treats for this party anyway. Jonathan isn't leaving them to languish ignored and uneaten.

"No on the walk, I think," Katie tells him. "We went out earlier, and the sidewalks get pretty dark on this street."

That's certainly true, and ice is definitely a hazard. It almost hit single digits last night, and it never did get back up over freezing today. Sometimes Boston is the worst.

"Yes, I bundled up, _Mother_ ," Katie adds.

"I didn't say anything," Jonathan huffs.

"Your _face_ said it," Katie mutters.

He's pretty sure they're just being silly. Pretty sure. "It's not my fault we somehow ended up on the North Pole."

"You are such a hothouse flower," Katie tells him. Yeah, silly, or at least not all that serious. "Are you sure you're not the one from the Deep South?"

"Yes, I'm sure, because Mark agrees that it's too cold here, so we can't have swapped places somehow. And if he says so, that means it's _science_."

"I'm pretty sure it doesn't work that way," Dan says.

"But it was very brave of you to offer to go out in the _slight chill_ ," Katie says, sickly sweet.

"Who offered?" Jonathan asks. "Shove all you penguins and polar bears outside, and Sarah and I can stay here where it's nice and _warm_."

Emma starts inventing a Christmas song about penguins and polar bears, and she soon draws them all into a whirlwind of presents.

Nearly everything is for her, with a few for Sarah — not because she'll notice, just so Emma doesn't think the holiday is only about her. Jonathan's contributions increase the gift count for both girls significantly, but almost all of it is practically stocking-stuffer level, because he doesn't want to make the adults uncomfortable or start any kind of a present competition.

His one real present to Emma is only slightly more extravagant, a good-quality stuffed dragon. Emma dramatically inhales so deeply she very nearly falls over before crowing about it, because several of their games involve dragons in some fashion. Jonathan worries briefly about her reaction, but to his vast relief, Emma soon declares on her own that the dragon and bear are best friends, easing his fear that he accidentally upstaged Katie.

Katie and Dan saved one present for each other, and they each have one from Jonathan, just little things, though they both seem pleased. In what seems to be turning into a running theme, they've jointly given him a small selection of coffees with goofy names, because they actually get him. Emma's present for him is a rock, and that sounds like a Charlie-Brown-movie kind of insult, but he knows she likes collecting pretty rocks, and she sits in his lap and earnestly explains the personal significance of each streak of paint she's applied to it with Mommy's help. He hugs her tight and kisses the top of her head because he doesn't have words for how much he loves her, and he wraps the rock carefully in his clean handkerchief to protect the paint.

Katie graciously agreed to deliver his presents to everyone back home, mostly generic stuff but a haul of championship gear for Mom, and she brought back their gifts for Jonathan. Chris sent a t-shirt with a highly questionable slogan on it — not remotely Jonathan's thing, but a very Chris-to-another-guy sort of gift. Mary Ellen sent fancy chocolates from one of her vendors, which she pretty much always gives, and Mom and Dad sent a bottle of wine, which they pretty much always give.

"Yes, you can keep them here," Katie tells him before he can ask, about the latter two items. At least, he's guessing she's not offering to keep the shirt around, considering her expression before Jonathan could refold it to hide the slogan. Pity. "Alternately, I could _say something_ , since you won't."

"But then you couldn't steal any," Jonathan points out. It's the wrong word to use, because Katie promptly gets silly-dramatic about how she! would! never! as she blatantly steals a chocolate right in front of him, and Emma tries to tell Katie that stealing is bad, and Jonathan has to explain he was just teasing and her Mommy is more than welcome to take a few candies, and then he has to give one to Emma. He tries to warn her that she might not like the dark chocolate one she selects, and she thinks he's silly for breaking off a piece for her to taste first, but once she confidently pops it in her mouth, she soon becomes _very_ offended that a candy could taste like that. Katie offers to take the rest of that candy, but Jonathan would never sentence her to such a dire fate and bravely sacrifices himself.

"I knew alcohol was a thing," Dan says when things calm down. "But Mark doesn't like chocolate, either?"

Katie very nearly snorts her stolen chocolate out her nose.

"Mark considers chocolate an essential food group," Jonathan says as he pats her back, just in case. "These just aren't kosher. Or, I mean, they aren't marked, so I can't be sure. And it's not that I'm not allowed to bring stuff home. Technically, he's only worried about the kitchen. I just know I get distracted about stuff, and it's easier not to _treyf_ anything if I don't bring _treyfs_ in to start with. And it'd be mean to taunt him with chocolate he can't eat."

"Mary Ellen has kosher vendors, though," Katie points out. "It's New Jersey, she has to."

Jonathan knows. And Mary Ellen knows enough about Jonathan's living arrangements that she could at least ask whether it matters, and she doesn't, and Jonathan doesn't want to make it a whole thing, and the chocolates are pretty good. It's rude to react to a gift by complaining about it anyway. "It's fine, really. And I think you … _liberate_ fewer than Mark probably would, so I get more for myself this way."

Katie rolls her eyes at him and drops it, as she always does, and Jonathan's annual Christmas ritual is thereby completed.

Dan's evaluating the label of the wine. He looks neither impressed nor disgusted, which presumably means it's pretty average. "This is the same stuff we have, isn't it?"

"No, Mom swapped mine out for something else last year when she figured out my morning sickness," Katie tells him. "And they weren't about to give us any this year while I'm breastfeeding, even before …" She sighs. Revealing the new pregnancy was apparently not all sunshine and roses.

"If you do, it might be mine," Jonathan admits. He'd been up-front about not being able to get back down to New Jersey a second time after the wedding last year, so his gift exchange was handled just before he came back. "I ate the chocolates while I was house-and-Emma-sitting, but I forgot the wine when you got back." _Forgot_ is maybe a little misleading, but close enough. He wasn't going to drink anything while he was responsible for Emma, and he tries not to drink alone anymore anyway, so his options were to leave it here or regift it to Tonya, which didn't feel right.

"We should write your name on them or something, so we don't accidentally … _liberate_ your wine, too," Dan says.

"It's okay if you drink it," Jonathan assures him. "Or remind me it's here when I'm over for dinner and we can all have some or something." He's not opposed to wine or anything, he just doesn't know much about it and really doesn't have many opportunities to get around to drinking it.

"Your birthday's soon, isn't it?" Dan asks. "You have plans?"

"Birthday?" Emma chirps. She's surrounded by presents at a party, but she's clearly still intrigued by the idea of another party.

"Not tonight," Jonathan tells her firmly. "It's a couple of weeks from now." Then he answers Dan with, "Probably just dinner at home."

"Well, we can't compete with that," Dan says, and Jonathan basks in just how right he is on that score. Mark is a fantastic cook, and he makes a special effort for birthday dinners. "But maybe you could come over somewhere near then and we could open one of these bottles. Bring Mark, too — or, wait."

Yeah, it gets complicated. "Maybe on dinner, depending how things look on your side and mine. And Mark would love to see more of you guys, but we just have to figure out when. He's having people over for New Year's, but that'd be late for the girls and you'd never find a sitter in time. But if you're open to bringing the girls over earlier on a different day, or hosting but having Mark provide the food —"

"Oh, no, twist my arm," Katie deadpans. "What a terrible fate."

"— we could probably work something out. Avoiding-the-Superbowl, or Groundhog Day, or a kid-friendly St. Patrick's, or something like that. Or just a non-wine-tasting dinner."

Mark has been nudging about it for a while, and Jonathan has really liked the idea, but they didn't want to intrude in the immediate post-honeymoon period, and then the new couple was busy with Christmas and Katie's morning sickness, and then all the little things around pregnancy and a newborn and depression and another round of holidays meant there never seemed to be a good time. If they're _offering_ now, Jonathan is absolutely going to jump on the chance.

"How many?" Emma asks. Jonathan doesn't follow her meaning, so she wiggles her fingers at him.

Right. Who cares about social calendars when there's a _birthday_ to talk about? "Oh, how old will I be?" When Emma agrees, he tells her, "I will be thirty-seven."

Emma frowns at her fingers. "How many?" she asks again.

Kids, man. They'll get you every time. He has to show her all of his own fingers, plus all of Katie's, plus all of Dan's, plus the seven of hers he helps her hold up. He hadn't been feeling all _that_ old, but her wide-eyed amazement certainly doesn't make him feel young, either. He helps her lower one finger to show how old he is right now, and that helps him precisely not at all.

Dan shows that if they lower another of her fingers, they'll have his current age, and then another for Katie's. That actually does help a little, since they're in the same boat he is. And then Dan shows that if Emma lowers yet one more finger — and all the adults drop their hands — Emma now has how old she herself is. Rounding down, of course, but asking her to deal in half-fingers would be a bit much. Emma is just as amazed as if he pulled a rabbit from a hat.

Jonathan isn't jealous, because that would be immature. He's less than an Emma away from turning forty. He's too old to be jealous.

The talk of potential dinners reminds Katie that Emma will need dinner soon. Jonathan would eat if they wanted to do a proper meal, but he's just as happy to fill up on snacks — Mark knows how to provide a balance of light and heavy stuff so someone can fill up on just snacks and not feel all bleh about it later. Katie and Dan seem happy for the excuse to do the same, so Dan just heats some chicken nuggets for Emma and calls it a day. Sarah's due for another feeding as well, so Jonathan contrives to make himself busy sorting gifts until that's done.

The next few hours are long and lazy, with the adults idly chatting around breaks to interact with Emma. Jonathan is careful to demonstrate some of their games — he sincerely thought Katie and Dan _knew_ about this stuff, and that Emma was talking about it — and in the process he solves a few mysteries for them. Apparently Emma has been talking about at least some of it, but they didn't have context to understand things like what _Elefantes_ was about or how to play Play-Pretend correctly.

Their games aren't the only minor mysteries that get solved.

At one point Dan and Katie are wrapped up in each other, stealing the last few moments before Sarah will be up from her latest nap, and Emma is busy coloring. Jonathan is sorting wrapping paper into piles of "reusable" and "really not" as a polite way of giving the other adults a bit of privacy for their cuddle. As his hands are working, his brain is busy trying to figure out exactly how to climb down from _secrets are always bad, full stop_.

Out of the blue, Emma comes over to him and asks, "Hug?" He smiles for her and immediately agrees she can have one, but she shakes her head and steps back.

Jonathan has far too many years of experience working undercover to let the twinge that gives him show. "Or not," he says easily. "You don't have to." He's certainly not going to force her.

But she shakes her head again. "You wanna hug."

The _way_ she looks worried is oddly familiar, and the twinge turns to a sinking feeling. "Oh. If you're offering, then yes, I would love a hug." He picks her up and she hugs him firmly, burying her head against his shoulder.

Dan looks a little puzzled, but Katie seems to get it pretty quickly, and she looks at least as concerned as Jonathan feels. They've all tried to balance being open and honest with Emma about Katie's depression with trying to make sure it doesn't overwhelm everything, but Emma is _very_ attuned to the moods of the adults in her life. That wouldn't be a problem on its own — Jonathan can testify that it can be a very handy knack to have — but she also seems to be developing the idea that she has to help _fix_ them.

She gets that same worried look on her little face whenever she can tell that her Mommy is sad. Jonathan wants to believe that his own desperate need to help hasn't influenced her, but … the signs aren't promising.

"Yes, I'm a little bit sad," he tells Emma. He'd rather deny it, but he remembers how painfully confusing it was when he was little to see that people were sad or mad only for them to insist he was wrong. He never wants her to doubt herself. "I broke something, and I'm very sorry about it, and I don't know if we can fix it. But it's something for me and your Mommy and Daddy to work on, okay?"

Emma pulls back to look him in the face. "Sokay, Uncle Jon," she says, bapping his cheekbone with her open palm a few times, her attempt at a comforting pat. "We can try tape or glue or posse."

He can't help smiling at that. "I'm not sure this is quite a tape-or-glue-or-epoxy situation, but we'll figure out if we can fix it, and we'll figure out what to do if we can't. Thank you for the hug." He almost tells her it made him feel better, because it did, but maybe he shouldn't encourage her to think that making them feel better is her job. He's messed up enough today, so he holds the comment back and buzzes her cheek to make her giggle and sends her back to coloring.

" _Posse_ is _epoxy_?" Dan looks flummoxed. "What — why is — _epoxy_?"

"One of her toys was broken, so we talked about repairing and reusing and repurposing while I tried to see if I could fix it. I listed off all the tools I could think of for putting objects together or making repairs — staples, nails, tape, glue, epoxy, a bunch of other stuff. She was never going to remember the whole list, of course, and I guess those are what stuck. So to speak."

" _Which_ toy?" Katie asks, oddly suspicious.

"I think it was meant to be a sort of a duck?" Jonathan guesses.

Dan catches on to whatever Katie means. "The one with the creepy leer and the quack that sounds more like an evil cackle?"

Jonathan wouldn't have said that himself, but he can see it. "Sounds about right." Actually, now he's pretty sure he can't unsee it.

Katie slumps against Dan in obvious relief. "So that thing _isn't_ possessed and dragging itself back from everywhere we try to consign it."

"Not … as far as I know?" Jonathan had no idea they'd ever think that. Sure, once he got into the battery compartment and saw that the battery contacts had been removed, not entirely elegantly, he realized that some of the damage wasn't accidental. But the casing was cracked, too, and Jonathan just assumed that Dan had thrown it away instead of seeing if it could be patched back together.

Nothing against Dan, really. He just clearly had a more financially secure upbringing than Katie and Jonathan, and that shows in little ways. Then again, thrift doesn't always correlate neatly to background. Mark's practical skills are weirdly patchy for the financial chaos his childhood sounds like. He was just as mystified that Jonathan knew how to darn socks as Jonathan was that Mark _didn't_.

"Did you really think that?" he asks. He means the zombie duck; they have no reason to know his mind briefly wandered off into sock maintenance.

"No," Katie admits. "Though I was about one surprise appearance from taking it seriously. It somehow survived a car being accidentally parked on it, so I really didn't know what it was capable of."

There's just enough weight on _accidentally_ to convey how much it wasn't. She must really hate that toy. "Well, if it turns up again, let me know, and I'll give it a talking-to about scaring people and then take it somewhere that actually needs a —" definitely creepy, but Emma's listening "— durable duck."

Then Sarah wakes from her nap and new games are played and the evening slides on.


	5. We're here tonight

Emma melts down a little once bedtime is unavoidable, so Jonathan handles her for that, as the person who will be gone when she wakes up again. He agrees with her that it's sad not to be able to stay awake forever, because he knows it is for her and he doesn't want her to feel like she's being shut down or dismissed. Then he eases her into a session of Princess Dragonrider — Now with Props!, and she eventually dozes off mid-adventure.

That happily takes long enough for Katie to finish Sarah's last feeding of the day, so Jonathan goes ahead and handles getting her changed and down for the night as well. He likes looking after the girls, and Katie and Dan really do seem pretty wiped out.

He expects they'll want to go to bed themselves soon accordingly, so he tries to ease into his own departure, but Dan holds up the bottle of wine. "No time like the present, right?"

It's not really about the wine; he wants to talk. Jonathan suppresses a sigh and goes to get glasses.

Dan's not snobbish about it or anything, but he does a few fiddly things with the cork and holding his glass up to the light and sniffing his portion. Katie pours herself just a little to taste, and she gives Jonathan a wary glance as if she doesn't quite trust him not to object, but he trusts her to know how much is safe and she barely poured a finger anyway. Or whatever that much is called when it's wine. Once Jonathan pours some for himself, Dan takes a small, evaluative sip and contemplates the experience. Katie and Jonathan take their own sips before giving each other matching small shrugs. It's … wine, whatever.

By Dan's reaction, it remains a solidly average wine, so Jonathan doesn't have to feel insulted by his parents' gift nor guilty for failing to appreciate something lavish, at least.

"We compromised," Jonathan tells Katie. He's pretty sure he knows what this conversation is about, and getting it started himself gives him more options. "I agreed that not all secrets kept from parents are _inherently_ bad — I forgot about Annabeth's mother." He ignores the look Dan gives him for the evasion. He can't stop Dan from telling Katie what really got through to him, but he doesn't have to be here for it. "Dan agreed that you'll both be a _lot_ better about talking to Emma — and eventually the other kids, too — about the time they spend with other adults. And we agreed together that I'll help you practice that so it feels like a conversation instead of an investigation. Deal?"

"I … guess …" Katie can clearly tell he's glossing over something, and she doesn't know whether to feel insulted on her own behalf, or protective on his, or something else entirely.

"And we didn't finish our conversation," Dan says firmly. "We also need to agree — all of us — to communicate more. We're all new at this, and we're going to make mistakes."

Jonathan almost protests that he isn't new at this at all. He's an uncle several times over. But … this _is_ the first time he's been so involved. Part of that is physical distance from the rest of his family, but too much of it isn't. And Katie and Dan have never asked him to back off, not once.

"We'll fix them," Dan continues, "but we have to work together for that. And we'll probably make fewer if we work together from the start. Things like rules especially — we can't expect Emma to be able to tell us every nuance of what she's learning from each of us individually."

Okay, that's fair. She's brilliant and she's amazing, but she's only three and a half. She reacted _perfectly_ with Jamie, but she needed Jonathan to help her explain today.

"So I think this calls for homework," Dan says with a faint smile. "Let's all try to work out what rules and schedules we've each laid out, and then get together fairly soon to go over them and check for any conflicts. Then we can figure out how to make sure we're all being consistent, and we can start figuring out how to adjust any rules that need adjusting. All right?"

Homework. Joy. But Jonathan did overstep, and he did screw up, and Dan is offering to let him be part of fixing it. Everything he's suggesting does sound reasonable. "Deal."

Dan raises his glass slightly, sketching out the suggestion of a toast, so Jonathan copies the gesture, followed by Katie.

Dan then takes another sip and contemplates his glass. Jonathan eyes the two of them, trying to calculate if now is when he should start wrapping up his visit, but Dan ends up speaking first. "In the spirit of communication … Katie, honey … I'm not asking you to decide now. I know we've got most of the year, and I know we can't predict what will come up. But … I'd like to raise the possibility of staying here for the holidays next year."

Well. Dan is certainly no coward. Which means the role is open at the moment. "I guess that's my cue," Jonathan says, shifting to stand.

"Oh, don't," Katie says, closing her eyes, voice wavering. Jonathan freezes. "Don't just run off now when we were having a good time. Don't ask me to think about a-year-from-now _now_. I just want to curl up in bed forever, I don't want to leave this house, I don't ever _ever_ want to make that drive again. Don't ask me now. I can't think about it now."

"I won't," Dan tells her softly. "I promise I won't, okay?" She gets prickly and touch-averse at times, and this seems to be one of them as far as an actual embrace is concerned. They end up with him stroking her arm awkwardly.

Jonathan is trapped, desperately wanting to flee in general and made childishly uncomfortable by their intimacy in particular but entirely unable to go against her wishes when she gets like this.

"I'm not pushing," Dan tells her. "I won't push. I just want you to know you have options when you are ready to think about it. You don't have to assume that of course I want us to go. But don't worry about it now."

Jonathan shoots a glare at him, because that _was_ pushing, really. But Katie hates for them to tiptoe when she gets upset, and in grudging fairness to Dan, that's a _very_ hard line to walk.

Jonathan's best trick in that respect is just to change the subject. They've basically already talked about weather. Sports ... touchy subject, because they're such a huge part of Katie's self-identity and her ability to keep herself in shape has been severely limited lately, and she knows he's not super invested in them for his own sake so she might think he's pandering.

The Sox are a safer sports subject than most — she knows he actually does pay attention to them, and the offseason is never a barrier. Especially not this year. So maybe he could ask how thrilled Mom still is that her team finally won? But Katie hasn't mentioned what Mom thought about the championship swag he sent down, and he's not sure he wants to risk wading into those particular weeds. What to say, what to _say_ …

"I'm sorry I dabbled in disturbing-duck necromancy," he says finally. It startles a little amused huff out of Katie, which is what he was going for, so Dan's slow blink is an unexpected gratuity. Ha. Tourist. He might visit Weird, but Jonathan _lives_ here. "I didn't realize I was merely a pawn in its quest for vengeance."

"I will smash it if I see it again," Katie vows. "All the king's horses, _et cetera_."

"All the king's men, with all their posse," Dan offers. Jonathan can't quite resent the perfection of his subject change. Emma's Words and Their Translations is a nice, safe, relaxing, familiar topic.

He is privately delighted that they don't turn out to have any new ones that he doesn't already know. It's not about keeping score, of course, but … he totally wins this round.

It's not a very long session, because both Katie and Dan are soon yawning.

"Do you need me to stay the night?" he asks. He hadn't planned to, and he'd need to let Mark know, but Katie told him not to just leave and he's willing if she does want him to stay.

"No," Katie says, looking embarrassed. "Sorry. I just —"

"I know, it's okay," Jonathan says hastily. He was pretty sure that wasn't what she meant, but he had to be certain, because he's the one who fumbled the first suggestion of leaving. "But I should probably head out soon, then, let you guys get some sleep."

They both look pathetically grateful, but then Dan makes a noise of annoyance at himself. "I didn't even — I can give you a ride home."

"Or you could not do that," Jonathan says. "I'm fine, really."

"It's really no problem," Dan tries to insist. "Or … does this make it a problem?" He briefly lifts his empty glass.

Considering that little alcohol and Dan's size, probably not. Jonathan has a pretty good idea by now of how much alcohol it takes before it seems to affect Dan's reaction time. Honestly, the clear exhaustion is more worrying than the drink, and Dan's place is here supporting Katie. And depression messes with thinking and she felt abandoned when the two of them spent too long in the kitchen earlier, so she would worry — maybe about something real like ice and accidents, or maybe about something inane but insidious like them sneaking off to have an affair with each other, and if that thought ever did enter her head, Jonathan would die of sheer embarrassment and Dan would laugh himself to death and she'd be alone after all and that's unacceptable.

"Better not to risk it," Jonathan tells Dan. Dan will assume he means driving a law enforcement officer around on one lonely glass of wine, which is for the best. No one needs to hear the places Jonathan's brain goes when he's getting a little punchy himself.

They spend a couple of minutes gathering the few things Jonathan needs to take home with him. Then Jonathan bumps shoulders lightly with Katie. "Go to bed, you."

"I can at least see you out," she protests.

"Pretty sure I can find the front door," he informs her. "And if you do that, then you'll look around and decide you have to clean up or something and you'll never get to bed. So you go to bed, and I'll round up the dishes and head home, and everybody wins, okay?"

She and Dan get matching expressions of refusal, but Katie speaks first. "You're not the _maid_ , Jon."

Jonathan refuses to consider what thought has crossed Dan's brain at that suggestion and why it has put that particular expression on his face. "Never said I was. But do you really want to deal with crusty dishes in the morning? I didn't think so."

They both seem to think he's got a weird semi-obsession about cleaning. He just wouldn't find it relaxing to be in the middle of a mess himself, and while he can't fix Katie's brain chemistry or anything with the rest of the family, he can put things where they belong when they're no longer being used and wash some dishes and those are at least _something_. If they're all he can really do, he's going to do the hell out of them.

"I'll just spend a couple of minutes rounding up a few dishes, and then Dan can help me find the door since you seem to think I'll get lost, okay?" Because Jonathan has a few more things to say to Dan, too. "Seriously, go to bed."

Katie sighs her concession and hugs him tightly.

He hugs back a little more carefully and shifts his tone to something far more obnoxiously patronizing than he would ever actually use on Emma. "I know, it's _very_ sad you can't stay up having fun forever, but you'll have lots of fun tomorrow and I promise I'll visit you again really soon."

She jabs him in the side for that — "Ow! _Rude_. No Princess Dragonrider for _you_." — but she smiles a little, so it's absolutely worth it.


	6. And that's enough

Once Katie heads upstairs, Jonathan and Dan spend a couple of minutes rounding up dishes and abandoned bits of food. There really isn't much at all — Jonathan finds that staying on top of these things is far easier than leaving everything for the end — and the dishwasher is soon humming softly to itself.

"It's not really the drive, is it?" Jonathan asks. "I've made it plenty of times. Katie used to make it regularly in the other direction, visiting up here. I'm not saying it's fun, especially not with small kids — I did thank you for driving Emma back up here before your honeymoon, right?"

Dan considers. "I think this makes about seventy-five times you've thanked one or both of us for that, yes. Have I thanked you for watching Emma over our honeymoon recently?"

"Only about a hundred and twenty-seven times," Jonathan says, because he can exaggerate, too. Them driving Emma was _huge_. Jonathan's driving is shaky enough when he doesn't have to worry about a toddler in the back. Dan still doesn't seem to understand that Jonathan's week with Emma was one of the best vacations he's ever had.

They can go quite a way down the rabbit hole of mutual thanking, but this isn't the time for that.

"Anyway. It's not really about the drive. It's about the drive after you had to deal with everything else. You didn't know what to expect, so you weren't braced for it, and then you didn't have anything left to deal with the drive after."

Jonathan remembers, all too clearly, the drive back up here after The Incident. What an insufferable slog it was, how frustrating and infuriating it was to have to pay attention for mile after mile after _mile_ when he just wanted to go crawl in a hole and sleep for a million years.

"Back off on the maybe-not-going-down talk," Jonathan tells Dan. "At least a month or two. Actually, no, three." Two months from now is uncomfortably close to the anniversary of The Incident, as it happens, and that really shouldn't be a factor in the discussion. "Give Katie some space from this visit so she can actually remember there are parts she likes. She _has_ to remember that before she decides or she'll feel like you manipulated her later."

"Oh." Dan is startled. "Okay, that makes sense. Thank you." He considers for a few seconds and then gives Jonathan a puzzled look. "If you're telling me that … you didn't seem to like the idea of us not going when I mentioned it earlier. But if you're giving me pointers now … does that mean you actually agree we shouldn't go?"

Nice try. "It just means you're both too close to it right now, and that's a bad place to make decisions from. You should know that if you do decide not to go, you'll get noise about it. They want the image, the smiling dutiful family in attendance, but you actually do have a _really_ good combination of reasons coming up. They'll carry more weight than something like work. Especially, no offense, your work, and Katie's, too."

"None taken," Dan mutters, clearly having taken _some_ offense but knowing it's not really justified. Consumer software just doesn't have the same heft against family expectations, and his company is far too reasonable. He had no trouble getting a few days off on either side of Christmas, including yesterday and today. And he's seen how little weight even Jonathan's job carries.

"Don't bother to cite the drive, by the way. That's just your own fault for living up here in the first place instead of moving down there. You probably can't get out of going forever, if you even want to, so prepare ahead of time or it will wipe you out. I can give you some ideas for that."

Dan pulls a chair away from the kitchen table and sinks into it. "Forever … I'd really rather not have it come to that. But … I don't know. If it was just me, or just me and Katie, I think we could manage it. It's the kids I'm worried about. I don't want them to have to listen to hate speech, especially from people they're expected to love. I don't ever want them to worry that the people who are _supposed_ to protect and defend them might just decide it's _none of their business_."

Jonathan should probably walk that back. Soften it. Something.

He doesn't.

Dan waits a few seconds, like he half expects Jonathan will. There was a time when Jonathan would have. But now the silence grows, until Dan finally asks, "Does Katie know about that?"

Jonathan isn't entirely sure how to answer. "Ish? She has parts of it, for sure. I don't know if she puts them together the same way."

He searches for words.

"You know those old TV shows — 1950s, maybe — with the businessman father?" he settles on finally. "Reads the paper at the table, rattles it irritably if the kids get loud but doesn't really interact with them, just goes to work and comes home and might as well not actually be there?" When Dan agrees, Jonathan says, "It wasn't like that. Sorry, it's just — this is hard to explain," he adds when Dan looks exasperated. "It wasn't like that, but it wasn't like … like _you_ with the girls, either. Dad was there, he played catch and taught us to ride bikes and all that, if we were ever in any kind of real trouble he helped us out of it, but … he was still kind of distant, I guess? Parents _were_ back then. At least in our neighborhood."

He's pretty sure it was a lot more than just their neighborhood, but Dan always looks vaguely confused when Jonathan tries to generalize about things like that.

"It was basically expected that we kids had to get along in general, but it was also expected that we'd squabble or fight occasionally and it was up to us to work things out. And we did, and it was fine. The girls got a little more attention, a little more intervention, partly because … well, because it was the seventies and eighties, partly because Dad never could handle it when Katie or Mary Ellen cried. And he taught us boys to be the same way, really."

"So _that's_ why Katie gets so …"

"Cranky, yeah. She hates being fluttered over because she had a father and three brothers who freaked out every time she cried, and maybe sometimes she just wanted to be left alone. Or just to be allowed to be upset about something and not immediately have to worry about how we'd react. I try not to anymore, but … it's hard to get that right without worrying she'll think I'm ignoring her."

Dan makes a face. "Yeah, tell me about it."

"You try, too," Jonathan points out. "And she's noticed. That matters. Anyway." He takes a deep breath. "We never had any real problems with each other when we were kids, so I guess Dad never did get around to paying attention to whether that changed. He still seems to figure that if we're fighting about something, we'll eventually work it out ourselves."

Dammit. Jonathan promised himself he'd stop making excuses, and here he is. But he doesn't really want it to sound worse than it is, either. Which means he is walking it back after all, more or less.

He's so tired of all of this shit.

"Even with Katie — Dad just figured she was purposely inserting herself into the fight between me and Jamie, so he wasn't as worried about her feelings getting hurt as he would've been otherwise, and she didn't want him to see her crying about it because … I guess she worried it would look like manipulation. I know Jamie accused her of it a few times."

Dan blinks at that. "Katie. Manipulating. _Katie_."

"Yeah, exactly. Anyway, that's how things were for a while, and then … the wedding."

"Ah." Dan leans back in the chair a bit as understanding dawns. "So that's why you said Jamie isn't allowed _anymore_."

"Yeah. Once he was threatening that he and Maggie and their kids wouldn't attend if I was even _invited_ , Dad couldn't miss that Jamie was going directly at her."

Katie originally wanted Jonathan in the wedding party. Jonathan was torn between wanting to do whatever would make her happy and wanting to flee to a non-extradition jurisdiction, because he knew how that would land, and he turned out to be precisely right. The fighting over his role was just as vicious as he expected it would be.

"Dad doesn't put his foot down about much, but when he does, we all jump. Maybe _because_ he usually doesn't, I don't know. So he worked out just how ugly Jamie was being to her and how one-sided it all was, and he told Jamie to attend and cooperate and not ruin her wedding and just generally leave her alone about me. Jamie's not going to cross Dad anywhere Dad might actually _notice_."

Dan seems to be waiting for Jonathan to continue. After several seconds, he says, "Okay, he was oblivious, but once he was paying attention … he intervened for _Katie_ , but …"

Jonathan lets his gaze drift up over Dan's head, to the windows overlooking the dark backyard. Dan already knows the answer. There's no need to say the words.

Dad didn't intervene for Jonathan.

It's not that he didn't know, doesn't know. Jonathan tried to explain so many times over the years, slogging his way past all that no-tattling and no-running-to-Mom-and-Dad stuff from childhood, forcing himself past his own tongue-tied inability to talk about these things. Over and over, he tried to make it clear that he didn't want to fight and Katie didn't want to fight and Jamie just wouldn't stop. The best he was ever able to get on Katie's behalf was, "It seems like she's inserting herself." The best he was ever able to get on his own was, "Well, I'm sure it's hard for him, too," and an uncomfortable silence.

He knew Dad didn't understand — couldn't, wouldn't, it didn't really matter which. But when Dad finally saw something really was wrong, when he finally did act, he intervened for Katie … and then he stopped.

That was when Jonathan finally realized how long he'd been waiting for Dad to stand up for him, how long he'd been hoping for that. That was when he had to accept he was never going to get it. That was when he finally woke up.

"I didn't mind coming in second to Katie," Jonathan says in the end. "That was never the problem." It's important to establish that. Dan will understand, because they're both here for Katie first and foremost. Coming in second to her would've been fine. The problem is not coming in at all.

Dan makes a soft sound, not exactly amusement, and shakes his head a little. "Thank you for explaining it," he says. "But if you were trying to make me feel better about the whole thing … I'm honestly right back where I started."

Jonathan finds that his fingers are making confetti again. He really doesn't need any Christmas-themed confetti, but he's going to have plenty by the end of the night. "You asked if Katie knew. I can only really tell you what I know, so that's what this was. But no matter what she knows …"

He stops bothering to maintain a polite expression and tone, lets himself go flat.

"I won't have her losing the family over me. Don't go poking at this particular subject with her. She gets fed up every now and then and I have to talk her down because she still needs them. She _deserves_ to be able to have them. I _will not_ be why she loses them."

Dan is starting to look vaguely alarmed. Jonathan can't really be bothered to care. Dan has to understand this.

"If that means I have to go smooth things over, then I go. I set fire to my partnership and I go and I play the dancing monkey and I take Jamie's shit and I smile and smile and _smile_ and she does _not_. Lose. The family. Over me. Is that clear."

Dan swallows. "Yes."

"Good."

Jonathan's life would be so much easier if he could just walk out the door after that, but he's not dressed for outdoors yet. He has to scrape together some kind of functional human presentation.

Once he's able to sound at least marginally civilized again, he says, "You don't want the kids around that stuff. I don't blame you — I don't either. We'll figure something out. There are ways to get out of going occasionally, ways to cope if you do have to go, ways to keep the kids away from at least the worst of it. You said we have to start working together more — you're right, and we can work on this, too. But wait at least a few months."

"Got it." Dan still looks tense.

Hell. Jonathan is going to have to fix this, too, but he can't really deal right now. He runs a hand over his face. "Guess I'd better start looking for that front door of yours. I'm reasonably sure it's around here somewhere."

Dan sighs and stands. "In a minute. You said your partner has a kid. How old?" Weird, he seems to be making himself let go of the tension, and he's not backing off as much as Jonathan half-expected. If he's finally figuring out how to recover on his own from being intimidated, Jonathan can only be relieved. One less thing for him to keep track of and repair.

"Most of a year older than Emma," Jonathan says.

"So … you're looking at a few years at least before you can get back down for a holiday." Just the slightest weight on _can_. Yeah, he's not really buying it.

That's fine, though. It's not about whether anyone really believes it, just about whether it sounds good enough. Jonathan figures all the single-digit ages should work, so that gives him five or six more years of relative peace to see whether anyone really pushes for him to make it or if his absence will just become the new normal.

He knows which side he's putting his money on.

"Like I said. If I have to be there for Katie and the kids, I'll make it work. But yeah, it'd cost me." He really doesn't think Tonya would ditch him over that specifically, but it would definitely raise the level in the bucket of reasons she should just go and get herself promoted already.

Dan shakes his head a bit. "Asking you to pay a price at work for the privilege of paying a huge personal price seems like a little much. How about we save that for a last resort?"

Jonathan certainly isn't going to complain. "Deal. Now, about that front door. I'm relying on you as my local guide, but don't try to take the Sumner — I know all the meter-padding tricks."

It's a flimsy attempt, but Dan manages a faint smile. "No tricks. I run an honest escorting-you-to-the-door business here."

It's not much of a business, trailing Jonathan from the kitchen through the dining room to the front entry, but that means a very low risk of traffic jams or velociraptor attacks. They make the short, un-arduous trek without incident.

"Are you sure you don't want a ride?" Dan asks as Jonathan starts piling on outer layers. "At least to the T?"

"Last I heard, you were sick of driving," Jonathan points out. "And …" He glances at the stairs. He's enough of a caveman not to like the idea of leaving Katie here alone with two very small children in her current condition — by which he actually means the depression, not the pregnancy, though there's a tiny bit of that, too — but a civilized way of putting that isn't occurring to him.

But Dan has a little bit of caveman, too, and he seems to get it. "Yeah."

He waits until Jonathan is fully bundled up before speaking again.

"Thanks for coming over," he says.

"I'm pretty sure today was all of you going out of your way just to give me a chance to celebrate the holiday," Jonathan points out. "So thank _you_ for having me over. Oh, did you have a fabulous parting duck for me?"

That wins an actual smile from Dan. "Sadly, no. I waited for trash day and made absolutely sure it got into the truck."

"That's almost a shame, but yeah, I'd probably have had to repaint it or something. But if you have any other toys to get rid of, let me know. I might be able to fix them if they're broken, and I can always take them to a thrift shop or a toy drive or something if you just don't want them anymore."

"Oh. Yeah, I can do that. I do try to be good about taking things in good condition to the thrift store." Jonathan had hoped that was the case, and it's good to have it confirmed. "Toy drives only want new toys, though."

"Usually, yeah. But there are a couple … kids absolutely deserve nice, new toys, especially kids dealing with … stuff. But there are a few places that keep a mix on hand, because … well. Sometimes battered toys go over a little better."

"Ah." Dan's face falls. That's Jonathan, life of bringing down the party. But then he says, "About earlier — I'm sorry I was so touchy. I forget sometimes, the sort of things you see in your job, and it's jarring to be reminded. But you've actually been really good about _not_ bringing that here for the most part. I should have realized how careful you were being about that."

"Well, keeping kids safe means emotionally, too," Jonathan points out. "Making them scared of every person they meet certainly isn't good for them. And … even knowing that, I did still screw up. I really am sorry about that."

"It's fixable," Dan insists. "How did it go? 'Tape or glue or posse'?"

"That's it, yeah." Jonathan widens his eyes and affects an Afterschool Special earnestness. "I promise I've learned my lesson about the power of teamwork."

That brings Dan's amusement back. "And don't you forget it. But seriously — you brush it off, but today wasn't just about us giving you a nice day. You gave us one, too, so thank you for that. Thanks as always for all the help with the kids and cleaning-up. And … I know you know this, but it bears repeating. You're always welcome here. You and Mark both, always. Okay?"

"Yeah, I know." But it does help to hear it. "Thank you," Jonathan adds, letting his sincerity show through. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas." Dan lets him out and then closes the door between them. Jonathan waits to hear the lock engage and then sets out.

He's been able to forget about it for most of the day, but he still feels ever-so-slightly unbalanced, like there's something he's forgotten to do. Somewhere he's forgotten to be. Even though he knows better.

It's just that this is the first year he hasn't gone back down at all. He went at least once a year for so long, even after … well, everything. It makes sense that he needs a little time to get used to _not_.

Things are messy back — no, not back home. With the rest of the family. Jonathan has been trying to be better about making that distinction since Katie's wedding. Home is here now, with Mark and with the Fourniers, and it has been for a while.

Things are messy with the rest of the family, but Jonathan has _this_ , and it's so much. He has so, so much, right here.

The walk to the T is dark and cold, but for once, he barely notices.


End file.
